


Elsewhere

by FancyKid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Desert Island Fic, F/M, I repeat, Sandor's therapy did NOT WORK, Slow Burn, You heard that correctly, because how else are they going to survive, sansa is a plant expert, sansan, the burn is slow, therapy on QI did not work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 17:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15756051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyKid/pseuds/FancyKid





	Elsewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Just a teaser for now. If you've read my fic On The Safest Ledge, you'll recognize this as chapter four. But of course, it changes at the end. I've been planning this for about 2 years, but I've barely written more than this.

“Alayne!”

It made no sense. Yesterday she was admiring the warmth in the air, the dust motes playing in the sun, thinking of the autumn wheat growing strong in the fields. This morning it was said to have been frozen over with the frost that came in the night. All of it broken, barren, unsalvageable. The clouds were so thick that Alayne couldn’t even see the base of the Eyrie underneath them. 

“Alayne, let’s go!”

There was talk of canceling the tourney, but both she and Sweetrobin fought vehemently against it. All of these people had come for the sole purpose of competing in and watching the tourney. It was bitterly cold, and the people were understandably scared and caught of guard, but even the Lord Protector agreed - to cancel would be a mistake. They had to show that the Vale was strong and prepared for winter, even though there was absolutely no warning for it.

_But perhaps_ , Alayne thought, _we should have canceled._

In her mind she was at another tourney, forever ago. She was just a girl sitting next to her father, watching a young knight from the Vale bleed out to his sudden death. But that was another girl in another life. A different father. A different man from the Vale dead on the ground in front of her.

“Alayne!” She looked up at the girl tugging at her arm. _Myranda_. “Come, we must go inside!”

She looked down. Sweetrobin looked paler than normal. Alayne remembered herself. 

“Come, my lord. Let us go inside until this all gets sorted out.”

The last thing she saw was the yard in utter chaos, her father hovering over the dead man on the ground. Her feet seemed to follow after her as Randa half dragged her and Lord Robert inside.

The previous night went better than she could have planned, or rather, better than her father could have planned. Petyr told her she must charm Ser Harrold. So charm him she did. She had charmed him so well that the man must not have noticed how many times his cup had been refilled.

His horse did trip in the end. He did fall on his face in his first tilt. Only, he had snapped his neck while he was at it. 

Once they were inside Randa’s rooms, they huddled close by the fire in the hearth. 

“Is this all because of the winter? Are we all going to die?” Sweetrobin asked with in a small, quaking voice.

“What? No, Sweetrobin, of course not.” She gathered the shuddering boy into her chest, but she knew that comfort would not be enough to calm him. “Myranda. Please find Maester Coleman.”

Soon, the little lord had his sweetsleep and was calm and still on her lap. She looked up at Randa.

“What does this mean? What is going to happen?”

For the first time since she had met her, the bold girl looked unsure as anyone else. “Well, the tourney is going to be canceled. Had it been anyone but Ser Harrold…”

Alayne knew what she meant. Had it been anyone other than Harry the Heir, she would still be outside, watching them clean up the blood and ready for the next tilt. If it were anyone else, Alayne wouldn’t feel so utterly helpless. They had a plan. Her father had made the plan. She was going to marry Harrold Hardyng. Then she would be able to stop pretending. She was going to reveal… _no_. She couldn’t think of it. She was still Alayne Stone. And without Harry, she might always be. 

_Unless…_ She looked back down at the boy in her lap, a stream of clear mucus running down his nose. _Unless this is my future._

Alayne had tried to stay out of the way for the rest of the day as Randa did what needed to be done as Lady of the keep and as Sweetrobin slept too deeply. It was after nightfall when Petyr finally came to her.

“Alayne.” She stood as he entered the room. His hands found her shoulders. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, shrugging out of his embrace. “Can you tell me what’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know, sweetling.” He stroked his pointed beard, contemplatively. “I can’t imagine what we’re going to do.”

But there was a glint in his eye, one that Alayne knew she alone could see. _He is lying. He knows exactly what he is going to do._

_He always does._

\- - -

“My lady.”

Sansa turned, her heavy skirts rustling against one another and the ground too loudly. Myranda stood there, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Randa. _Please_ stop calling me that.”

“Lord Robert is waiting.” Randa stepped forward into the room. “He’s very excited to give his cousin away.”

No sooner was Harry buried that Sansa was being examined by a woman Petyr claimed was a septa. The process was uncomfortable and wholly mortifying, but in the end, Petyr had what he needed. Proof that she was never _truly_ married to Tyrion Lannister. Proof that she was free to marry. As herself. As Sansa Stark.

Sansa took a small breath, all that her dress would allow. “Well then.”

Randa’s face changed. “Are you though? Well?”

Sansa blinked at her. “Yes.”

“Sansa.” It was still strange to hear her true name out of her friend’s mouth. It had only been a couple of days since everyone was told. They’d kept it quiet, even though Petyr was convinced that winter’s abrupt arrival would protect her from anyone that meant her harm, especially Cersei, the weakling she had become.

Sweetrobin was happy to have a cousin now. She still thought of the looks Myranda and Mya Stone had given her when they first saw her auburn hair. She blushed furiously, thinking of how abashed the girls, at least Mya, must have been for speaking in the informal way they had to her for all of this time.

“Don’t lie to me,” Myranda begged, “Please. Not again.”

Sansa looked down at the white embroidered dress she wore and tried not to wipe her damp palms on the fabric. Her voice was small. “You married someone you didn’t want to marry.”

“But, that’s different,” Randa grabbed her hand, “I’m not the heir of Winterfell.”

Sansa swallowed and though Randa’s fingers were a vice on her wrist, she didn’t try to pull away. “Petyr is the one man who has seen to my wellbeing. He took me out of King’s Landing. Kept me safe.”

“But-“

“Randa,” She cut her off. “You seem to forget that I can’t simply run away. Winter is _here_. And I am still wanted for the murder of the King.”

Randa paused, thinking. And then, “He did it, didn’t he? Lord Baelish?”

She felt her heart pounding against her ribs. “Yes.” _And he got me in return._

Randa’s fingers loosened. “That doesn’t mean you owe him the North. Winterfell. It doesn’t mean you owe him a place in your bed.”

Sansa looked up, knowing her friend could see the utter hopelessness in her eyes. “Doesn’t it?”

Randa looked away and remained quiet for a moment. When she turned back her eyes were hard, focused. “No. No it doesn’t?”

Sansa shook her head. “What?”

“Well, we weren’t sure if this is what you really wanted, Mya and I. We realized that we really didn’t know _you_ at all. But Sansa,” Randa grabbed her wrists once more, “We know the horrible things Littlefinger has done. We’ve heard all the stories. And just seeing you today, looking a shade paler than your dress, I know you can’t want to be here.”

Sansa’s heart beat fast now. She tried to ignore it. Tried to tell herself not to hope too hard. 

“Randa-“

“I can’t just let you give yourself to that vile man.”

“What other option do I have?” Sansa begged incredulously.

“A tough one,” Randa looked at their clasped hands, then back up to her friends eyes. She was determined, strong. Sansa wished she felt the same. “ You’ll need to be brave, Sansa. But there _is_ another option.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. Oh man what am I doing.
> 
> Okay so if you're even mildly interested in me continuing with this mess, I would appreciate it so much if you could please let me know in the comments or by leaving kudos. Like I said, I'm not ready to get all this hammered out, but it is my next big project, so long as there is anyone interested to read it!
> 
> Thanks for checking it out!


End file.
